


Vision

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Injured and separated on a hunt, Winston has to rely on his friends--whether they're actually there or not--to help him get back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vision

First published in _We Got One! 3_ (2000)

 

            “Haunted forest,” Winston muttered darkly to himself, pushing through yet another stand of trees in search of the quarry he was chasing. “Shoulda figured Ray really meant it.”

            Haunted forest, indeed. When the youngest Ghostbuster had bounced into the TV room that morning to announce their latest call, Peter and Winston had taken one look at each other and burst out laughing. It was just such a cliché, and Ray had a way of making even the mundane sound exciting. But as they made their way to the forest ranger station in the Shawangunk Mountains, Zeddemore had begun to suspect that the call would turn out to be just that. He’d have complained about it, except that Peter was already so vocally protesting leaving the city, it would’ve been redundant.

            Not that Winston had anything against the great outdoors. On the contrary, he often felt more at home out in the wild than in the city. But the outdoor busts tended to have the most unforeseen challenges, easily separating the group and raising all kinds of obstacles that city dwellers had no experience with. Winston was the only one of them who was remotely in his element, and even he was little help to the team when they split up. The best he could do was the long lecture he’d given them on survival skills on the way up, and the compass he’d refreshed them on and made them carry when they’d gone out for the bust. No way did he intend to lose any of his team out here in the wide open--or heavily wooded--spaces.

            The orange figure popped up in front of him with a startling screech, then dove off before Winston could snag it. With a curse, Winston followed. The “ghosts,” Egon had ascertained, were no more than some unruly sprites who had begun to scare off campers and hikers, causing little damage to anything or anyone but the area’s reputation, but that was enough for the rangers to call in the Ghostbusters. The sprites were fast, though, ducking through the trees with easy familiarity, and this one seemed to almost enjoy leading Winston on a wild goose chase. He was already stumbling a little from exhaustion, but Zeddemore kept after the gooper nevertheless. No sprite was going to play games with him and get away with it.

            Orange appeared again, this time swooping in from above, nearly into Winston’s face. With a growl, Winston brought his thrower up and shot in one smooth motion, snagging it before it could once more sweep away. Shrieking, the sprite tried to pull loose, dragging Winston along with it, but the eldest Ghostbuster hung on determinedly, fumbling for a trap and tossing it down.

            At the trap's pull, the sprite grew frenzied. With a desperate jerk, it pulled up, dragging Winston through a large bush. Zeddemore squeezed his eyes shut against all the branches slapping him in the face, freeing one hand from the thrower to try to feel his way clear again.

            The next moment, he was free of the bush. And stepping out into empty space.

            With a yell, he scrambled for footing, but the vegetation was in the way and his feet found no purchase. He began to tumble down the incline the bush had obscured, trying to stop or slow himself while covering his head. The world rushed past in a blur of green and brown, scrambling his sense of direction until he stopped trying to grab and merely curled himself into a protective ball. Sharp objects tore at his clothing and his arms and legs, and his head impacted with something, forcing an involuntary yelp from him. His ribs also slammed against something solid, making his eyes water, and then he was airborne for a brief moment, coming down hard on his arm. There, he stopped his descent, but by then, Winston was no longer aware of anything.

 

           “I got him!” Ray yelled in exaltation, grabbing up the trap he’d just closed and swinging it aloft.

            “‘Him’, Ray?” Peter asked wryly from across the clearing. “They all looked like squashed tomatoes to me. Did you see something I didn’t?” He sat down next to a pine tree to nurse his bruised arm.

            “Actually,” a dry voice sounded behind him, “wood sprites are usually characterized as male and female, both according to legend and Tobin.” Egon ducked under a low-hanging branch and stepped into the clearing, also carrying two blinking traps. He looked flushed and, to Peter’s great delight, seemed unaware that his hair was badly mussed. Seeing Peter on the ground holding his arm, his eyes narrowed. “Peter, are you all right?”

            “Yeah.” Peter shrugged it off quickly. “Old Goldie here,” he nudged the trap with his foot, “decided to introduce me to a tree. I’m just a little banged up, Egon.” The physicist didn’t look convinced, and Peter put on his most aggrieved look. “A _tree_ , Egon. We never have to worry about running into trees in the city. I think I’ve had enough of the great outdoors, and you should see what it’s doing to your hair.”

            Egon’s concern found a new source, and he shot Peter a dark look as he reached up to smooth his hair back into its usual unusual style.

            Peter just grinned at him, then at Ray, who grinned back. Giving his arm a last experimental flex, the brunet reached down to pick up his trap. But the motion aborted as something occurred to him and he straightened up, glancing around the clearing with a frown.

            “Hey, guys? Where’s Winston?”

            Egon and Ray turned to look at him, then, the question registering, around at the clearing. No one else was there.

            “Winston!” Ray’s loud yell carried well in the suddenly silent woods, and they all froze, expecting to see their fourth partner appear at any minute.

            Silence.

            “When did anyone see him last?” Egon’s voice was flat and practical.

            Ray answered. “I thought he was right behind us when we were chasing that blue sprite--wasn’t he?”

            “I don’t remember,” Peter said, worrying his lip in thought. Something in the pit of his stomach twinged a warning, but he ignored it. “Look, guys,” he said brightly instead. “Winston can look after himself out here better than any of us can. If he got separated, he’ll find his way back soon enough.”

            “If he’s okay,” Ray added worriedly.

            “It would not be wise for us to set out and attempt to find him. If we return to the ranger station, they can send out trained searchers to look for him. But I’m certain Peter’s right and Winston will find his way back on his own.” Egon’s words were just a little too sharp, and Peter glanced at him. Right. They were both going off wishful thinking. But they needed Ray’s optimism and there was no real cause for worry yet. Peter scooped up his trap and moved over to Stantz, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

            “That’s right. He’ll probably get back even before we do. So, you want to explain to me in the meantime how you can tell a girl sprite from a boy?”

            “Peter!” Ray blushed, and Peter turned to throw Egon a cheerful wink. The physicist shook his head tolerantly, but his eyes were solemn and Peter felt the twinge in his stomach strengthen. He sure hoped Winston would beat them back, because he wouldn’t feel comfortable until he saw the other again, safe and whole.

 

            “Are you gonna lie there all day, mister, or are you gonna show me what you’re made of!”

            The loud voice was hollering right in his ear, and Winston winced as he jerked his head away from it. The noise in his head was plenty loud enough already without it, thank you very much. What bender had he been on the night before?

            “You’re a sorry piece of garbage, you know that? Can’t even get up and face me!”

            The voice was still yelling at him and growing more familiar as his head cleared. Groggily, he glanced up into the large, red face that glared down at him.

            Winston blinked in confusion. “Sarge?”

            “That’s DI Sergeant McCallister to you, Zeddemore. Have you gotten so soft you can’t even remember that much?”

            This was crazy. Winston hadn’t seen his boot camp drill instructor in. . . well, a very long time. The man had to be in his late fifties by now, but he looked exactly as Winston remembered him. And just as mean.

            “On your feet, soldier!”

            His body reacted by sheer reflex, struggling to jerk up to attention. He started to push up on his arms, only to have his strings cut by pain that took his breath away. Winston struggled for a moment to remember how to breathe again, and then he gingerly took stock of the situation. His right arm hurt savagely, no question of that, although as he probed it he couldn't feel a break. A sprain then, or maybe something torn. Nor was inhaling a pleasant endeavor, especially hard breaths, and his side was competing with his arm for which would make him lose his lunch first. Next to that, his aching head and the low throbbing he discovered in his knee, not to mention the soreness in every inch of his body, seemed negligible.

            What the heck happened?

            There was...something orange. And then he fell and rolled. Nothing beyond that. But he had to get back before someone missed him. The guys! They’d be worried sick about him. How could he have forgotten? Winston made another attempt to rise, sagging back with a groan.

            “Look at you, you out-of-shape sorry specimen of mankind. I’m ashamed of you!”

            He’d nearly forgotten the Sarge, and Winston opened his eyes to blink again at the blurry figure towering in front of him. Everything made sense now except the Sarge’s presence. Surely he hadn’t hit his head so badly that he was hallucinating already?

            “Are you gonna get on your feet, soldier, or do I have to drag you up?”

            Well, real or not, it sure sounded like the Sarge, and Winston had no desire to see if it acted like the man, too. Turning gingerly onto his good side, he pushed up slowly with his good hand, managing to sit more or less upright.

            Once the dizziness cleared, it occurred to him that he’d forgotten all about the pack, still firmly attached to his back. He fumbled with the strap and eased his bad arm out, letting the proton pack drop away before he turned to study it. It certainly seemed to have survived the fall intact, perhaps even protecting him some on the way down. Just not enough, Winston flinched as he touched his ribs.

            “Is that the best you can do? Snap to it, mister; you’ve got a long hike ahead of you.”

            Winston groaned, this time not from the pain. “Gimme a break, Sarge, can’t you see I’m busted up?”

            The red face was suddenly nearly nose to nose with him. “I always thought you were a quitter, Zeddemore. Why don’t you just curl up right here and give up? Let your country and your friends down. They’ll never miss a sorry teammate like you.”

            That did it. Winston’s rage got him to his feet, wobbling a little but steady enough to look the other man in the eye. “I am _not_ a quitter and I’m _not_ going to let my friends down, even if I have to get through you to do it, Sarge. They’re my team and they’re the best, and I am not about to give up on that.”

            Unexpectedly, a glint of a smile appeared in the hard grey eyes. “Is that right? They’re worth that much to ya, huh?”

            Zeddemore winced. Sarge had always known how to rile his men until they did the impossible for him. McCallister wanted him vertical and had said just the right thing to get what he wanted. But Winston refused to play, leveling a serious gaze at the man. “Yeah, they are,” he answered soberly. “And I’m going to show you.”

            The big man crossed his arms over his chest, and Winston noticed for the first time that he had Army greens on. _This is nuts,_ the Ghostbuster shook his head to himself. But the hot breath of the man as he leaned forward into Winston’s face felt awfully real. “Fine, show me,” he sneered.

            Zeddemore shut his eyes to clear his head. Okay. He could do this. He had to. First thing was taking care of injuries so that he could travel. Nothing seemed to be bleeding excessively anymore, although he could feel dried blood pull at his face. There wasn’t much he could do about his ribs, either, and his knee only seemed strained. He’d just have to take it easy as he went, Sarge or no. Which left his arm. One handedly, he struggled to loose the straps of the pack. It was already a foregone conclusion he’d have to leave it behind, reluctant as he was to do so. It was doubtful anyone would find it before the guys could come back for it, and there was no way he’d make it back dragging that thing with him.

            “Are you going to take all day doin’ that?” McCallister snapped behind him.

            “You’re welcome to help,” Winston muttered back darkly.

            The big man rocked back on his heels smugly. "Well, now, if I were really here, I might just do that but I'm not, am I."

            Winston forgot what he was doing and gaped at McCallister. A hallucination who _knew_ he was a hallucination? This was getting better all the time. Either that, or maybe Winston wasn't as confused as he thought.

            Grimly, he put the vision out of his mind and set to work. The strap was free of the pack now, and he set to work awkwardly trying to bind his arm to his chest to keep it as steady as possible. It was slow, hard work and every jostle of his arm made him grit his teeth to keep from crying out, but he finally did it, collapsing back against the pack and panting as hard as his ribs would allow when he'd finished.

            "That's a right purty job you did there, soldier," came McCallister's mocking voice behind him. "Now are you going to pick some flowers, too, or are you going to get moving?"

            Winston sighed. He was an even-tempered man but he'd never been impervious to the Sarge's barbs. DI’s were good at that, but Winston had always wondered why McCallister got to him like that. Maybe because he reminded the Ghostbuster of his father sometimes. Even exhausted as he was, he could feel the adrenaline rush of anger, and he pushed himself back upright with it. Winston said a brief prayer for strength and help.

            "I'm on my feet, see?" So what if he was swaying a little.

            "What do you want, applause? Get goin'!"

            Zeddemore shut his mouth tight and instead dug his compass out with his good left hand. He knew roughly which way he'd been headed, chasing that orange sprite, and Winston found his bearings easily enough. Which meant he'd have to go. . . that way. Straight up the nearly vertical incline.

            If he were one-hundred percent, and maybe with a rope, the climb wouldn't have presented a big problem. As it was, it was inconceivable. The shortest way was no good at all if it wasn't possible. Which meant he'd just have to go the long way, circling around until he found an easier way up. Perhaps a detour of miles.

            Exhaustion settled over him like a smothering blanket, making him sag where he stood. How was he supposed to do that, hurt and alone?

            "I knew it," the voice came softly behind him, but full of disgust. "I knew it when I laid eyes on ya. A quitter. Always expecting others to come get you out of a jam instead of getting yourself out. Some asset to the team. Guess they're not as important to you as you said they were."

            Winston's shoulders straightened at that. Quitter? Quitters didn't pull their injured best friend miles through the jungle to try to get him help in time. And he certainly wasn't about to let his current team down. Those boys needed him.

            "Wanna bet?" he shot back over his shoulder, and, limping slightly, set off along the base of the incline at as steady a pace as he could handle. By the time it occurred to him that no one was following, the discarded pack was long out of sight behind him.

 

            The ranger station finally came into view, and all three men heaved a quiet sigh of relief. None of them were willing to admit worry yet, but it hung in the air between them, dampening conversation and their usual banter. Chances were Winston was just fine and on his way back, but the fact that he'd not turned up yet and that they were out in the wilderness was more than enough justification for uneasiness.

            Ray felt it despite Peter's efforts to keep him distracted, and though he appreciated the effort, the ranger station was still a welcome sight. Hopeful once more, he ran ahead, certain that Winston would be waiting for them already.

            He burst through the door in a rush, startling the ranger who sat at the radio. Angela Dixon looked up at him in surprise, then smiled.

            "Dr. Stantz, we didn't expect you back so soon. Were you successful?"

            Ray had felt shy and awkward before around the pretty brunette, but he only blushed faintly now, intent on his mission. "We sure were, but we got separated from Winston out there. Did he come back here already?"

            Dixon frowned. "No, you're the first person I've seen since the four of you left. Are Drs. Venkman and Spengler with you?"

            "Drs. Venkman and Spengler are here," Peter said smoothly from behind Ray. But even his usual attempts at charm were muted with worry. "Zed isn't back yet, huh?"

            Ray's face had fallen at the ranger's response and now he turned to Peter to slowly shake his head. The engineer knew Winston's survival skills; their eldest partner had taught them all about how to deal with busts outdoors. But that didn't mean that he was all right, and despite Peter and Egon's attempts to hide it, he could see the same worry in their eyes. He usually could when they were trying to reassure him, but he most often played along. It made the guys feel better, and him too.

            But now Peter was gnawing on his lip and Egon's was frowning just a little, and Ray felt himself wince. This was bad, he knew it.

            "We must go out and try to find him," Egon announced at once. "It's possible Winston has been injured or. . . lost." None of them really believed that, but it was a thought Ray clung to.

            Dixon nodded. "I can get some trained help up here in a half an hour. You could separate and go with them to look for Mr. Zeddemore."

            "In the meantime--" began Peter.

            "In the meantime, I'm afraid you'll have to wait," Dixon said firmly. "None of you are trained for this or know the area at all. Chances are you'd get lost, too, or worse. You'll do your friend the most good if you wait. It won't be long."

            Determined green eyes met their match in the ranger's chocolate brown ones. Ray glanced at Egon, who sighed and stepped forward to pull gently at Peter's shoulder. "She's right, Peter. As much as I myself don't care the idea of delaying a search, setting off by ourselves would do more harm than good. We'll just have to wait for help to arrive."

            The last sounded pained, and Ray could see that Peter caught that, too. He turned at once, studying Egon for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, Spengs, I just don't like to wait."

            Ray felt himself grin at that. "You, Peter? Impatient?" he said with disbelief as melodramatic as he could muster.

            Peter jumped at him with a playful growl, messing up his hair. But his heart wasn't in it and all of them knew it, and a few minutes later they were bunched together in a corner of the small station, tensely waiting. None of them were good at that, especially when one of their friends was possibly in trouble. And no distraction on Peter and Egon's part was going to take Ray's mind off of his growing alarm.

 

            The longer he went, the more certain it seemed that he'd never find a way up. The incline was higher in some places and less so in others, but never grew more gentle or manageable in slope. And the farther he went, the harder it was to keep his fix on which way the station was. His aching head and the viselike painfulness of each breath he took didn't help, either.

            "This is impossible," he muttered discouragedly.

            "Actually, it's not impossible, merely challenging and quite difficult."

            The familiar pedantic voice melted away his exhaustion and Winston turned joyfully to see Egon standing to one side of him, calmly watching him.

            "Egon, my man! Boy, am I glad to see you guys. I need some help here. . ."

            Egon shook his head almost sadly. "I'm sorry, Winston, I am here only in an advisory capacity. I will, however, do what I can."

            Winston checked himself, his relief fading. "You're. . . not really here, either, are you? Like Sarge."

            Spengler raised an eyebrow at him. "Aren’t I? Then why are we having a conversation?"

            "Good question," Winston sighed. Wrapping his left arm around his aching ribs, he started off again in the direction he'd been going. "Sarge was here to get me going. He was always good at that--made me so mad, I set off without even thinking about it."

            "Then I'm grateful to him," Egon said promptly. "You know we shall be doing our best to find you, Winston, but it's quite possible you might have to go as far as you can in order for us to do so."

            "Yeah, I know it," Winston answered, touched by his friend's worry, even if it wasn't really Spengler. It could easily have been.

            Winston usually had no clue as to what was going on in Egon's head, and had more trouble than Peter trying to follow some of the dry scientific explanations. Some of the engineering stuff made sense to him, but Zeddemore had no problem with the knowledge that the physicist was brilliant and he wasn't. After all, the genius also had no conception of self-defense or street smarts when they’d first met, and Winston had been half-afraid that he'd hired onto a job with a bunch of eggheads who tripped over their own feet and were going to get him killed. But he was a keen observer, and it didn't take long to see more. Like that, despite their differences, Egon never looked down on him. That he was amazingly perceptive about those close to him. That he had a deadpan sense of humor that caught Winston completely off guard the first time he realized he was being teased. And that he was fiercely loyal and protective toward his friends, which gradually included Winston. The friendship was one of the oddest ones he’d ever known, but also one of the most satisfying.

            None of that really explained, though, why Egon, of all people, was here now.

            "Say, Egon," Winston said tiredly. "Why _are_ you here?"

            The blond hadn't appeared to have been walking, but he was still close by and blinked at him now. "May I remind you, Winston, it is you who choose to have me here, not I."

            "Oh," Winston said. He was so exhausted, even concentrating on making his feet move was tremendous effort. But he still thought that over. "Maybe you're just here to make me feel better, tell me I'm almost there."

            Spengler frowned. "I'm afraid that's most likely untrue. The incline does not seem to be getting more accessible, and the farther you go to find a moderate path, the farther away you are going from the ranger station. You seem to have a considerable distance yet ahead of you."

            Winston groaned. "Man, that is _not_ what I wanted to hear. What's the point if it's impossible?"

            "That is not what I said."

            "That about sums it up! I'm already dead on my feet and you're tellin' me I'm not even close yet. What makes you think I can do this?"

            "I have faith in you," Egon said simply. "You have a formidable will, Winston, as well as a great deal of skill and a deep loyalty to your friends. You will not give up."

            Winston stared at him, and the blue eyes framed in red glasses stared back at him, full of trust. Then he looked up at the apparently endless trail stretched out in front of him. No, he wouldn't give up, not while he had any strength left at all. The Zeddemores were stubborn fighters, and Winston was no exception. Plus he had a lot of reasons to fight for. Three of them were looking for him that very minute.

            "You're right," Winston nodded, turning back. "Thanks for the remin--"

            There was no one there.

            Winston closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Then, checking his compass once more, he limped on.

 

            Egon was deeply disturbed. It had already been one and three-quarter hours since they first realized Winston was missing, and they were now certain that something had gone wrong. Spengler was not a worrier or one to hypothesize the worst, but it was reasonable to assume that Winston had been trapped or injured somehow, otherwise he would have certainly found his way back by now. The arrival of rangers and trained searchers was of some comfort, although Egon disliked the idea of separating from Ray and Peter and had seen their hesitation, too. But it was the best way for them to cover the most ground, and so here he was, wading through the forest with two other men, searching for some sign that Winston was all right.

            But the PKE meter, set to look for Winston, wasn't even stirring, and worry was gnawing away at the physicist's hope.

            Not that he didn’t trust Winston’s skills. Zeddemore had been a logical addition to the team when they were shorthanded, but the older man's battle experience and training ended up an unexpected and badly needed bonus. And although he had little knowledge of science and even less of the paranormal, Egon soon discovered Winston’s keen mind and interest more than made up for his lack of formal training, and he had an innate sensibility and wisdom to balance Peter's occasional hotheadedness and, admittedly, Egon's and Ray's frequent preoccupation. The friendship came along later, much to the physicist's surprise. Beyond objective appreciation of Winston's skills and practicality and a realization of how well the new man rounded out the team, Egon began to trust him, not only with his life, but with his friends and himself. Zeddemore’s steadfastness became part of the bedrock of the team, and Egon was honored to return the friendship offered. Winston was an equal member long before they made him an official partner.

            More than once in the past they'd had to face the loss of a member of the team. It was always a hellish experience, one even Peter's psychological background or Ray's optimism couldn't much lighten. But it was very often Winston who kept the team going, looking, realistically hoping. Egon hadn't realized how much he'd relied on that quiet strength until he needed it now.

            Interesting how in a group of scientists, they’d come to rely on the non-scientific member for stability and rationality. But then, Egon had learned a long time ago that human relationships were hardly always logical. Like how worry for one friend could so blanket out all other concerns. Quelling an impatient sigh at the thought, Egon adjusted the PKE meter for another attempt to find his missing partner.

 

            The sun was beginning to go down, Winston bleakly realized. He'd given up all coherent thought some time back, concentrating solely on moving, staying along the base of the incline even though he was getting into denser vegetation and the trees and bushes made going on so much harder. Thoughts of rest and release from pain and seeing his friends again were the only thing keeping him going now, for his body had long refused any more vague hope than that.

            His foot caught in a root, and he would've fallen flat if not for the vine that he flailed for and caught. All the green--this wasn't 'Nam, was it? Something nudged him as wrong about that idea, but he couldn't quite figure out what.

            "Yeah, sure looks in country, don't it? All it needs is Charlie hidin' out behind them bushes and takin' potshots at us."

            That was Deke; Winston knew before he looked. He was beginning to get used to these visitors, and anyway, Deke belonged in this place. It was a very similar spot to this that Deke had tripped the wire and been thrown by the blast right into Winston . . .

            "Hey, Zed, remember that time we got cut off from the rest of the guys and for two days we were wanderin' around, shootin' at our own shadow?" A laugh. "Man, we were so green. Sometimes I can't believe any of us made it outta there alive."

            "You didn't," Winston said hoarsely, pushing himself to his feet and finally looking over. Deke smiled back at him, looking just as young as he had that lifetime ago. His dimples were almost invisible in the fading light and Zeddemore's unpredictable eyesight, but the mop of blond hair was as wild as Winston remembered it. Pure country boy, that one, much like Ray in his childlike enthusiasm, even after Deke had grown up overnight like so many in the jungle. Thank God Stantz had never been in the war. It had been one of the hardest things Winston had ever done, writing Deke's folks in Kansas with the bad news.

            "Naw, that’s a fact. But you sure did your best, Zed--heck, I don't think I could've written your folks if it’d been you. But I guess it was just my number. 'Least I got home and Mom and Pop never had to wonder."

            "I made sure they knew, Deke," Winston murmured. "I told 'em myself."

            "I know it, Zed. And I sure 'ppreciate it. Leavin' behind people to worry about you is even worse than the dyin'. I'm glad you're not gonna do the same thing to your friends."

            Winston deflated a little. "Deke, I don't know. I'm so tired. . . I can't keep going like this. I wanted to. . ."

            Deke stepped nearer to him, the earnesty in his face clear even to Winston's blurry eyes. "It's almost nighttime, buddy. Why don'tcha rest for a while. Your friends'll understand, and you're about to fall over. Heck, you look worse than I do, Winnie." Winston winced at the nickname he thought he'd left behind in the war, and Deke laughed. Then grew sober. "Look, Zed, you and me faced death so many times, I lost count the third day. That kinda experience makes you friends real fast. You got the same thing goin' with those three boys there, except I think y'all have got something a lot more permanent. I bet they're out lookin' for you already, and they ain't gonna stop until they find you. Maybe you an' I woulda stayed that tight if we'd both made it back, and maybe not. But it sure is a real good thing to hang on to when you find it. You just do your best, and trust 'em to do their part. And that includes you takin' care o' yourself and gettin' some sleep."

            The thought of making it to his friends was a strong lure, but Deke was right. Winston was too exhausted to go on, and pushing himself would just lead to collapse. He hated the idea, but he consoled himself that it wasn't giving up, just taking care of himself. And as worried as his friends would be, they'd want him to do just that.

            With a sigh, Winston sank to the ground and curled up on his good side. The air was cool but it was early summer and his shivering was more from weakness and injury than the chill. He'd just sleep a few hours, then get going again. . . find the guys before morning. . . they had to be worried to death about him by now. . .

            "'Night, Deke," he sighed.

            He wasn't even sure if he got an answer before he sank into sleep.

 

            "It's time to head back, Dr. Venkman. It's getting too dark to see and we're going to need to get some rest."

            Peter's attention jerked back to the head of his search party--Jesse, was it?--from where he'd been stooped over the ground, looking for any sign of Winston's passing that way. Then the words sunk in and he felt the dread plop like a stone in his gut. "We can't stop now! We haven't found Winston. We can't leave him out there overnight, he could be hurt!" Outrage grew, egged on by his worry.

            "We're not giving up on him," Jesse soothed. "A relief team's going to take over and keep searching using nightscopes. But we've been out here eight hours, already, Dr., and we need to go back and get some rest now."

            Peter _was_ bushed, but that hardly seemed important next to leaving one of his teammates out there, alone and probably hurt. Peter wasn't even thinking dead. There was no way he could and keep control right now. Injured was already a gruesome enough thought. "We can't. . .," he protested weakly, surface anger giving way to a much deeper pain. How could he make them understand that it was _Winston_ out there?

            Jesse's expression softened further, compassionate in face of Peter's despair. "We _will_ find him, Dr. Venkman. If he's as familiar with the outdoors as you say, he's probably already found shelter for himself for the night. You owe him to be at your best when you go looking, and you can't do that without getting some rest."

            There was no argument to that, and he let himself be turned and led in the other direction.

            It didn't make any sense. Ray was the one who tended to bound off without thought, or Egon, concentrating on something and oblivious to risk. Not Winston. Didn't he know how much they depended on him?

            Ray and Egon had accepted and befriended Winston much more quickly than he had, even though he and Zeddemore had the most in common. Peter enjoyed having someone around who was down-to-earth and wasn't always using mile-long words, but the idea of Winston getting no closer than a pal and colleague had been fine by him. Then Peter met Big Ed Zeddemore for the first time. The psychologist had surprised himself by how upset he was at seeing the derision Winston's father had showed at his son's new occupation and choice of company, anger more for Winston's sake than his own or that of the business. Father troubles he could understand, and that night, for the first time, he and their newest partner had a long talk, a real talk. Peter hesitatingly shared his own family secret, and was gratified that the trust was kept and returned in full. And his small circle of friends had grown by one.

            Winston had brought gifts to the team that no one even expected, and had more than found his equal place among them. The way he fit with them, like a puzzle piece, had to be an act of God, because no one ever got that lucky by accident. And to lose him now was. . . impossible. They'd never find a right piece like that again, and the puzzle would be incomplete.

            The light of the ranger station in the distance hardly lifted his spirits. If the others had found something, they'd have reported in on the radio. Peter's only comfort was that at least he'd be with Egon and Ray again, and that was some relief. Peter had rarely been so alone, and he hated that. He didn't even want to think about how Winston felt.

 

            "Hey, Winston, you going to sleep all day?"

           Winston tried to burrow under his pillow to escape that pestering voice, except there was no pillow to crawl under. Great, Slimer had probably made off with it sometime during the night. He'd have to get that spud good. But for now, all he wanted to do was sleep, and he was fairly certain it wasn't his morning to cook breakfast. "Go away," he grumbled and began to doze again.

            "C'mon, you're burning daylight, Winston. You're the one who's usually pulling _me_ out of bed."

            Winston turned just enough to glare balefully at the green eyes that danced as they watched him. "You're a good one to talk about mornings, Pete. I didn't think you even knew the meaning of the word."

            "Guilty as charged," Peter grinned irrepressibly. "But even I manage to get going when I have to."

            He was just about to ask why he had to that morning, when Winston started to roll over--and remembered the hard way. Everything that could've gotten stiff overnight, had, including parts of him he didn't think usually bent. His knee felt pretty good, and his head was a little clearer, but the throb in his arm was intense enough to make up for any improvement. Nauseated, Winston curled up tighter around his protesting ribs and tried to rediscover the oblivion of sleep.

            "Uh-uh-uh," a voice chided more gently this time. "Rise and shine. If you don't get going now, you never will."

            "So?" Winston shot back sourly.

            Peter's playfulness fell away. "C'mon, Winston, we all need you to. You give up now and we might never find you. Your dad's going to kill us if we lose you." That was only half jest.

            Winston considered that, then sighed deeply. "Pete, I don't think I can keep going much longer. How ‘bout I just stay here and wait for you guys to come find me?"

            "We're trying, you know that. But it's a big forest and it's not gonna be easy. You have to try. Please."

            He sounded so utterly earnest, Winston listened. Peter didn't often get like that, and when he did, it was usually because he cared.

            In some ways, Winston had had the hardest time figuring out Peter. On the surface, the two of them connected at once, sometimes united in their confusion about the scientific mumbo-jumbo, sometimes the only realists in the group. Peter had been friendly from the first, but there was a reticence about him that Winston sensed from the start, even without understanding. It wasn't Zeddemore himself, he knew that, and Egon and Ray told him enough about the skeletons in Peter's closet for Winston to figure out that trust wasn't easy for him with anyone. But Peter's love and willing sacrifice for his teammates were clear, and Winston knew a good man when he saw one.

            Somehow, Peter’a meeting Winston's father had set the foundation for shared understanding, and from then on, Zeddemore began to see a part of Peter that until then he'd only observed from the outside. It was a part that was very much worth knowing, though, and he was honored to be trusted so. Not to mention that he'd never known a truer friend. That friend was always there, shining in Peter's eyes in every teasing jibe and playful put-down he made, but when he dropped the facade, Winston knew how lucky he was. Now included.

            He sighed. "Only you could talk me into this, Pete," he gritted through clenched teeth as he eased himself up, then, leaning against a tree trunk for support, struggled to his feet. That was probably true. Also lurking under the playboy exterior was a darn fine psychologist, and Winston often didn't know when therapy was in session until it was over.

            "That's because I'm so irresistible." Peter's lilt was back, but he was still watching Winston intently. "Besides, think of it this way. You coulda gotten one of Ray's peptalks or Egon's lectures."

            Winston groaned, half in appreciation and half in misery. His ribs were screaming at the movement, and the sleep hadn't restored more than a little of his strength. Nor had he had any water since the previous morning, and already he was fantasizing about it. If he didn't get help soon, the most encouraging visions in the world wouldn't help him.

            "Zed," Peter said seriously.

            Winston squinted up at him.

            "You're gonna make it, partner. Just hang in there and keep trying. For all of our sakes." There was a desperation lurking in the green eyes that Winston recognized. He'd felt it too when one of his teammates was in serious trouble. The concern warmed him and strengthened his resolve.

            "I'm trying, Pete. I promise," he said grimly.

            "Good. And now, to keep you going, maybe we could sing some campsongs. How about _Camptown Races,_ you know that one?" Without waiting for an answer, Peter began to warble a tune that was only slightly recognizable.

            Winston grimaced. "Pete?"

            He couldn't see his friend behind him but he could hear the innocent look in his voice. "Yeah?"

            "Shut up."

            He did. Zeddemore glanced uncertainly behind him after a moment, unsurprised to find Peter gone. Bracing himself against the renewed solitude, Winston stumbled on alone.

 

            Ray stretched as widely as the sleeping bag allowed, then his face fell as he remembered the events of the previous day. Despite all three of them searching with separate parties until nightfall, there had been no sign of Winston. He could have gone in nearly any direction from the clearing, and they had no idea how far he had gotten. Peter had pulled into himself, making an effort only to keep his friends' spirits up, and Egon had gone serious and stoic. They were both bad signs and Ray knew it, but he was feeling too miserable and worried to be able to do very much for them. Only Winston turning up would making everything all right again.

            Peter, for once, was up already, a sure sign of his worry, as was the fact that he was talking quietly with Ranger Dixon without any attempt at charm. Egon sat quietly on his sleeping bag in the back corner, watching Peter with a frown, though Ray couldn't tell how much of that was concern for Peter and how much for Winston. He noticed then that Ray was up, and glanced over with a tired, strained smile. Apparently, none of them were feeling much better that morning.

            Peter glanced over and saw him, too, and saying something to Dixon, he met Egon's eyes briefly before retrieving a mug of coffee for Ray and bringing it over to him. The psychologist already had a hand wrapped around a mug of his own.    

            "G'morning, Tex. Still no word about Winston, but our groups are gonna be back soon so we can all set out again."

            Egon came over to join them, his arms absently wrapped around himself to ward off the chill of the small cabin, and Peter automatically handed over his coffee to the blond without even looking at him. Egon accepted it also without a glance and took a sip, his eyes on Stantz.

            "Do they. . . have any idea where to start looking this morning?" Ray ventured hopefully. Perhaps they'd at least picked up some clue as to which way Winston had gone.

            Peter and Egon traded a glance, and Ray knew. "Sorry, Ray," Peter said soberly. "We're still starting from square one. But we were thinking that maybe today we oughta stay together, go out in one party with a guide. Others will be looking, too, but at least we can. . . " He trailed off.

            Ray understood what he meant, and was surprised by the rush of relief he felt at the idea. It had been miserable, splitting up and going with strangers to search, even if the two guides he'd been with were nice people and there was some merit to the idea of each of them going on and advising a different party. But the Ghostbusters had always had strength in numbers.

            Winston was one of those numbers, and Ray keenly felt his absence now. Despite their disparate personalities, Winston had always been the one closest to understanding both his love of machinery and his good memories of his family. It was also with Winston that he'd had long discussions of faith and belief, the kind that Peter didn't seem interested in and Egon didn't much believe in. And Winston knew how to imagine, and Ray loved that about his friend. Even if they'd both had their reservations about each other. Winston had seen and experienced more of life than Ray was ever inclined to, and he clearly didn't know what to make of Stantz’s eternal optimism and enthusiasm. Some adjustment had been needed. But there was an ease and flexibility to their newest member that connected just right, and his practicality was exactly what they needed, saving the team more than once. Ray was very glad to have him the older man for a friend.

            It made the pain of loss all the more severe now, but, he reminded himself, Winston wasn't gone for good. They could and would find him, and the team would be intact once more. Judging from his friends' faces, they all needed that as badly as he.

            "When do we leave?" he asked, scrambling out of bed and reaching for his bag. It was a good thing they packed for a possible overnight stay--on Winston's recommendation. He silently bit his lip. They _would_ find Winston that day. They just _had_ to.

 

            His eyes were playing tricks on him and his vision swam in and out, so at first Winston didn't believe the path when he saw it. But as he approached, it became clearer and clearer, until he couldn't doubt it. Where the slope was at the most gentle he'd seen so far, there was a path worn deep into the rock that climbed even more gradually than the incline. It was still a trek, but it was a possible one.

            "Thank God," he murmured, meaning it with all his heart. He'd spent the morning talking to God as he stumbled along. His momma had never called it praying; she said God was too close a personal friend for it to be anything as formal as that. But she'd passed on her intimate Friend to her children, and Winston had found himself talking more and more to the God of his childhood as he saw and experienced things that sorely tried his faith. And God had always answered him. Now, Winston thanked Him again as he grabbed onto a large rock and started working his way up.

            "Your momma was always good at putting God in the middle of her life," came a deep voice to Winston's left, nearly making him lose his balance. He'd been half expecting Ray to come along, not--

            "Dad?"

            "What's the matter, you're surprised to see me, Winston? Where else would I be if you're in trouble?" The words, meant to be kind, were gruff and challenging, as they usually were with Big Ed.

            Winston sighed, turning his attention back to the difficult path. "Nowhere, Dad," he replied by rote.

            There was a pause, and when the elder Zeddemore began speaking again, his tone was more subdued. "Me, I was never as good at it as your momma. I tried, but I didn't see things as clearly as Esther did. Mighta made it easier on you kids."

            "What're you talking about?" Winston gasped, stifling a moan as he slipped and lurched into a rock. He took a moment to right himself and rubbed his eyes clear before he continued up. "You were great when we were growing up. Strict, maybe, but it was probably good for us." Not to mention the only way to deal with a house overflowing with kids. "My only problem was that I didn't want to go into the family business, and you couldn't take no for an answer."

            "Ghostbusting," his father snorted. "Look where it's gotten you. This wild goose chase could cost you your life this time, Winston. Is that really worth it?"

            Winston stopped, pressing his arm against his ribs to keep from passing out as he caught for breath, but his gaze was steady. "Yeah, Dad, it is. I know you never believed in what I did, but it is important. We save lives, and we help people. And you know what?" his voice picked up momentum. "Even if we weren't, this job got me the three best friends I ever had in my life. And even if I don't make it past this day, Dad, that still made it worth it all."

            His father studied him, his face stern and closed. Then, unexpectedly, it softened. "Son, I'm not going to pretend I approve of what you're doing. I wouldn't have minded so much if you didn't want to do construction, I just didn't want you to end up doing. . . this." He held up his hand as Winston began to protest. "But no matter what you do, I've never wanted to see you hurt and I really just wanted you to be happy. We both did."

            Winston felt his defensiveness slip away. "I know that, Dad. But _this_ makes me happy. Can't you accept that?"

            Big Ed frowned. "We'll see. First, you have to get yourself out of this, and then--we'll see. I'll never forgive those boys if you leave us now, this way, though, Winston."

            Winston knew that, too. With a last push, he made it over the top of the trail, wavering at the top of the incline and too dizzy to look down.

            "I'm gonna make it, Dad," he whispered. There wasn't enough breath in him to say it louder, but he knew his father heard. And with that, he slipped quietly to the ground.

 

            "Over there!" Ray's exclamation caught Egon's attention before the light did, but it was the next thing he noticed, blinking away from half-under the bush. The red light of a full trap.

            He and Peter rushed over right behind Ray, reaching for it as one. Ray got to it first and snatched it up, quickly examining it.

            "Winston was here!" he looked up joyously, and Egon felt the first real hope he'd felt in nearly a day. Then Ray's face fell. "But if he caught the sprite he was chasing, where is he now?"

            Their guide, Dave, a large man who towered even over Egon, spoke up behind them. "Looks like maybe he ended up down there." With the advantage of height, he was looking over the top of the high bushes in front of them, but for their sake, he parted the branches so they could look through. "There's a small cliff hidden right past 'em."

            Peter's face paled as Egon suspected his also did. "A cliff?" the psychologist repeated sickly.

            "Yeah. . . here," Dave walked a few feet over to one side, past the bushes and two large trees, and pointed. "Take a look."

            They all did, crowding around with dread, and Egon felt his breathing ease a little at the sight. It was a steep incline, but no more than twenty feet or so. It would hurt, especially if one fell wrong or unexpectedly, but it wouldn't necessarily be fatal. Even better, there was no sign of Winston, only something that looked like. . .

            "Winston's pack!" Egon straightened abruptly, nearly knocking over Ray behind him as he did. "He was down there. Where is the best way to descend?"

            Dave frowned as he considered it. "Why don't I go down and take a look first? I'm not sure we all need to go down, and I could use your help getting back up."

            "But if Winston's down there--" Peter began.

            "Just let me try this first," Dave suggested calmly. "I have an idea and if I'm right, all of us going will just slow us down."

            Peter looked like he wanted to say more, but he shut his mouth again when Egon lay a hand on his arm. "Just show us what to do," the physicist said.

            Five minutes later, they had secured a rope to the thick tree near the bushes and Dave was making his way down the incline, three anxious pairs of eyes watching his descent.

            "I don't know about this," Peter muttered.

            Ray answered before Egon could. "I know, Peter, but he seems sure about what he's doing. We can wait a few minutes."

            His voice sounded less certain than his words, and that was probably the only reason Peter didn't continue the argument, merely putting an arm around the engineer's shoulder. Egon had never removed his hand from where it rested on Peter, and he could feel the tenseness in the his friend. Thus they waited.

            Dave reached the bottom, then carefully began examining the area, starting with the pack, and then slowly circling around it. At one point, he bent to study the sandy soil more closely. One more glance, and then he hollered up to them.

            "Just as I thought. He's headed off to find a way up. We can trail him from up above." He hefted the abandoned pack, apparently undisturbed by its weight, and slinging it over one shoulder, returned to the rope and motioned to them. "Help me get back up."

            Egon bent at once to help, his friends on either side of him, as he considered the man's words. That was some good news: it meant that Winston was on his feet and moving with cognizance, though it was uncertain in what condition he was in. The guide's logic in following him didn't make as much sense, but Egon saved his questions for the moment.

            Dave reached the top barely winded, and paused only to regain his footing before turning to them and handing over the pack. Ray and Egon examined it while the man talked.

            "It looks like Zeddemore set off along the bottom of the incline to find someplace where he could get back to the top again. He's headed in a good direction, too; there's a path cut into the incline a few miles along the way he's going. I found a little blood down there--" Egon and Ray both looked up at that "--but if he's moving, that's a good sign."

            "The pack seems a little beat up, but still okay. Only, there's a strap missing. Why would he take it off?" asked Ray.

            Egon and Peter traded a look. "For immobilization or splinting an injury, perhaps," Egon offered, and saw Ray wince. "Of course," he hurried on, "perhaps he took it simply in case he needed it."

            Weak, very weak, but he saw Peter pick up the ball. "Sure. You know how practical Winston is. Besides, you heard what Dave said. He's already set off to find his way back. I betcha if we head back along the edge here, we'll meet up with him in no time." He threw Dave a querying look.

            The guide nodded, pulling out his walkie-talkie. "That's the idea. I’ll let the other groups know on the way, and we can stop and leave your equipment at the station as we go."

            It wasn't enough, but it was a start and more hope than they had a half-hour ago, and Egon clung to it. They were going in the right direction now, and it was only a matter of time. He saw the same resolution in the rest of the team, and, by proxy, imagined no less in Winston. Wherever he was.

 

            Ghosts were chasing him along the high beams of the building frame, herding him right into the enemy. His shoes were full of blood and his face was dripping with the stuff as he forced his way through virgin jungle so dense, it was nearly impassible. Wait a minute. . . ghosts? And what were trees and bushes doing on the construction site? That didn’t make sense. But he could feel the wet vegetation against his face. . .

            Sputtering, Winston started awake. There was indeed wet plantlife around him, but it was grass and he was lying on his back in it. Up above, trees swayed in the breeze with soft sounds. It wasn’t hot or wet or still like the jungles of his memory. Only the pain was the same.

            Winston gave a soft sigh. Reality wasn’t much of an improvement over his nightmare. He was still fighting for his life, just on a whole other battlefield now.

            “Winston?”

            The voice was so soft, so tentative, he almost missed it. But he’d long become tuned to that particular voice, along with two others, and he turned immediately to squint at the round blur next to him. “Ray?”

            “Winston.” A row of white--teeth--appeared as Ray grinned at him. “Boy, we’ve been worried sick about you.”

            Zeddemore’s eyes closed. The fact that Ray was alone and just sitting next to him told him the truth of this vision, but reality danced in and out, hard to follow. He let his eyes close again. “Ray. Where’ve you guys been?”

            “Looking for you. You know that, don’t you?”

            Such hope in that earnest voice. Winston found himself nodding. “‘Course, Ray. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

            How had this messed-up world ever managed to raise an innocent like Ray Stantz? Winston never figured it out and never would. The temptation at first had been to believe that he wasn’t real, or, even worse, that he was naive and childish. But Winston could read people fairly well, and Ray’s sincerity was too real and lasting to be faked. And the innocence masked an inner strength and competence Winston hadn’t even guessed at at first. Stantz’s brilliance rivaled Egon’s, his loyalty and bravery was equal to any soldier’s Zeddemore had ever fought beside, and his enthusiasm sometimes kept them going when nothing else could. It reminded Winston of his brother Charlie, and it was nice having a little brother to look out for again. And another who worried about him.

            The three of them were pretty amazing. Three real friends, already together and waiting for him to join them--who was so blessed? Winston had gone to find a job and had instead gained another family.  

            Ray was chattering on, but Winston was too zoned out to listen to the words, just the tone. Typical Ray, excited and concerned and consoling all at once. Winston would’ve given all he had to have the real Ray with him that moment. He knew that was what the engineer was pleading with him for, too, but Winston just didn’t know if he was able to keep trying. Still, he blinked up at the sky above, he’d never been able to refuse Ray. And the trees were too dense around here. If he could just make it to some clearing, they’d be a lot more likely to find him, and soon. Then he could rest all he wanted.

            The smothering nausea and hurt was such a constant now, he barely noticed it anymore as he slowly straggled to his feet. He only had a vague idea now of where he was and which way he was going or why, but Ray’s voice kept at him to go and so he went. Peter could be bossy and Egon, demanding, but usually Ray was always heartfelt in what he asked. Winston blindly pushed his way through the trees, following the coaxing words, conscious no longer of anything but their pull and his desire--no, need--for it all to end.

            He kept stumbling on, not even realizing it when he’d cleared the trees and the voice had faded away.

 

            Peter was down-to-the-bone scared. It had given him some strength of hope when they found Winston’s pack and trap and learned he was hurt but moving. It was a load off, actually. But the worry that was left was still crushing. Too many absences and departures in his life had made him wary of another, even an unwilling separation through death. The fact that he’d allowed himself to get this intertwined with three people was exhilarating and the best thing that ever happened to him. But if one of those strands was cut. . . What would he lose of himself, too?

            Venkman sternly repressed the thoughts. His psych training hadn’t been for nothing; he knew objectively that his worries were magnified by his past and his personal demons. But that didn’t help the way they ate away at his stomach.

            The ranger station was finally in sight, and Dave had strode ahead to drop off the extra pack and check in before they all went on. Now that they had a definite direction, the other parties would regroup soon and go out again in the area Winston was most likely to be. They would find him soon, no matter. . .

            Peter swallowed. Egon’s hand on his shoulder flexed comfortingly as if in response, making him smile a little, and he, in turn, squeezed Ray’s arm. No matter what happened, at least they could face it together.

            Suddenly, the grip on his shoulder became so tight, it hurt, and Peter yelped. He turned toward Egon, an anxious question dying on his lips as he saw the physicist staring at something just beyond the cabin, and Peter turned the rest of the way around to see what it was.

            Coming out from a stand of trees, looking bloody and battered and unutterably weary, was Winston. Peter froze, too, taking in the vacant expression and limping plod and the immobilized arm against his chest. The psychologist had never seen his partner that much of a mess but still moving. And he could never hope for a better sight.

            Next to him, Ray had also looked up and now gave a glad cry, breaking the spell. Pulling away from Peter, he ran full tilt across the clearing.

            Peter was only a few steps behind, and he could hear Egon pounding along behind him. As he ran, he couldn’t help but notice that the black man hadn’t seemed to notice them, his gaze fixed and turned inward. Then, Ray reached him and Winston stopped, swaying in front of the engineer.   
            “Ray?” he rasped uncertainly. “. . . thought y’already. . .” Peter slid in next to Ray and Winston’s eyes slid over to him, then to Egon who arrived a moment later. Something slight changed in Zeddemore’s expression. “Guys,” he breathed. “. . . really here?. . . made it.” His voice was fading, strengthless. “Thanks.”

            Peter saw it coming, lunging forward to grab Winston as his eyes closed and his body went lax.

            The next moment, his friends were helping him and shakily he let them, Egon easing Winston down from behind while Ray grabbed his good arm. Together, they got their injured partner flat down on the ground, his upper body resting against Egon, and Peter reached at once for the carotid artery, already aware of Winston’s raspy breaths but needing to be certain. His chilled fingers found the slow, steady pulse, and stayed there, content to feel each beat of life thump through him.

            Ray was already at work next to him, checking for injuries and making sounds of distress at each discovery. Ribs, knee; he reported each one to Egon, who nodded acknowledgement as he examined Winston’s arm and head injury. Peter, unneeded for the moment, sat and listened to his friends’ reports as he watched the pain-lined, pale face. Winston was back. His eyes and ears didn’t believe it, but the unfaltering throb beneath his fingers was slowly convincing him otherwise, and he was listening with all his heart.

            Running footsteps behind them shook him out of his focus. Peter automatically turned to meet Dave. “It’s Winston. He’s alive but he’s hurt. Can you get a chopper team up here or something?” His voice sounded so detached, he marvelled it was his own.

            The guide nodded. “Sure can. We’ll have one here in no time. I’ll be right back with a kit.”

            There should’ve been more to say, but Peter just nodded, turning back to his friends. Egon looked up at him.

            “The injuries are serious, but he appears to be stable and in no immediate danger.” Worry lingered in the physicist’s expression, but the strain had considerably eased in his eyes, and that reassurance untied all sorts of knots in Peter that nothing else could have.

            Venkman took a deep breath, looking over at Ray, who smiled back at him unsteadily, then at Egon, whose eyes warmed as he freed a hand to rest again on Peter’s shoulder. The psychologist gave them a lopsided grin, then leaned forward and whispered, “You’re gonna be okay, Winston. We’re all gonna be fine.” For that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

 

            He wasn’t even awake yet and he already knew he wasn’t alone. There were others present, just as there had been every time he’d opened his eyes before--his parents, some of his brothers and sisters, the guys. The memories were all vague, half-aware ones, and he suspected he’d not been particularly stimulating company, either, but nobody had seemed to mind. They were just there for him, even as they’d been. . . out in the woods?

            Winston started fully awake at the incongruent thought, and he winced as the sudden movement pulled at healing ribs.

            “Easy, Winston. You had a fall and you’re in a hospital, remember?”

            Ray’s voice, scared but determined, just as it had been towards the end. It _had_ ended, hadn’t it?

            Winston opened his eyes.

            Ray was there, looking as real as could be. But then, all the visions had. Looking past Ray, Winston saw Egon sprawled with unusual relaxation into a large chair by the wall. Of Peter there was no sign, but that was enough. The visions had never come in twos. “Ray,” Winston breathed with satisfaction, his eyes easing shut again. He was in a hospital, his friends were there, and it was truly over.

            “It’s okay, Winston, you’re going to be fine. Your mom and dad were here before, too, did you know? We’ve all been worried about you, but everything’s okay now.”

            He sounded so resolved, Winston wanted to say something reassuring, but the sound of the door opening cut him off.

            “How is he?” Peter’s whisper. Figured he’d be around, too.

            “Still here, Pete,” Winston answered instead, his voice sounding broken and unused.

            Still, when he made the effort to look, Peter stood in the doorway grinning like an idiot at him.

            “Hey, Zed!” The psychologist came all the way in, handing Ray a steaming cup as he did. “We were beginning to wonder if you were gonna sleep all day.”

            Winston grinned weakly, slow, heavy tiredness creeping up on him. “That’s just whatcha said in the jungle,” he murmured.

            Peter and Ray exchanged a glance. “Uh, when was that, Winston?” Ray asked carefully.

            Oops. They’d probably think he was crazy if he tried to explain that one. And yet. . . in a way, it had been real. He had felt their presences, been spurred on by their encouragement. Where the Sarge and Deke and his Dad had come in, he wasn’t sure yet, except that maybe he’d just needed them then, too.

            The talking had roused Egon, who appeared behind Ray at that moment to study the patient.

            “How are you feeling, Winston?” he asked gravely.

            Winston grinned sleepily at him. The physicist, too, had deep lines of worry around his eyes that faded a little even as they took in Zeddemore’s awareness. Carefully, Egon laid a hand on Winston’s good arm, the one that wasn’t numb and immobilized. Sooner or later, the elder Ghostbuster knew he’d have to learn the whole story of how they’d found him and how badly he was hurt and how long he’d have to be in the hospital, but for now, he was nearly asleep again and feeling perfectly content to just soak up his friends’ concern.

            He’d been lucky. He came from a good family, had made some strong friends in his life. And then just when he’d thought he’d lost most of that, Winston had found three partners who became both friends and family for him. “Thanks, guys,” he sighed, the word trailing off as fatigue caught up to him.

            He’d never really been alone, after all.  

The End


End file.
